


Sacrifice

by Hakyeonsmelanin



Category: Kpop - Fandom, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Misogyny, Sexual Tension, Smut, Strong Female Reader - Freeform, human reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-07-08 01:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakyeonsmelanin/pseuds/Hakyeonsmelanin
Summary: You are the spotless sacrificial lamb and he can’twaitto sink his teeth into you.OrCount Dracula! Jun / human! reader.





	1. Hero

The north is a cold place.

The sky is stained in a deep, intrusive blue; matted by perpetual fog. Your world is painted in dull grey hues, as though every last vestige of light has been sucked up by the sun. You are left with nothing.

The history of the land contains an even harsher coldness to it. There are tales of a once prosperous merchants town, rife with plush foliage, rich scenery and _colour_. The town lived in peace for thousands of years, enjoying the fruits of their labour; riches and golds and jewels—a material tranquility. Then the Nosferatu attacked. The town crumbled. 

Tales of ceaseless brutality from the Vampires have been embedded into all of your childhood memories—gruesome details of how drunken men were eaten alive whilst stumbling home in dark alleyways and the foetuses of pregnant women were ripped out of their stomachs, just to be drained of their blood. Like all prey, you feel an intrinsic fear of your predator.

But even the most barbaric can be bargained with and even _they_ can name a price. Which is why every year, a single virgin girl of age must be given handed over to their leader— a creature only known as The Count—in exchange for the freedom of her people. She will be known as a martyr, the perfect sacrifice and be forgotten within days of her departure.

Heaving a sigh, you look down at the blood collecting in your underwear. Your mother claps a hand to her mouth, stifling her cries. The selection ceremony is in two days time.

~

The air is biting today. It contains a ferocity that shocks you, specs of snow rushing past in wild winds—for a moment you wonder if there will a blizzard. Nonetheless, you keep your pace and trudge through the snow with focused eyes. Your mother’s gloved hand encases yours tightly. She just won’t let go.

There are girls who have gone to the ends of the Earth to avoid todays ceremony. Girls who have fucked so hard that their wombs have shattered, girls who have hung themselves from high oak trees upon their first period, girls who have committed the most depraved of crimes—all so they can be locked up, far away and safe from the Nosferatu. Girls who are free and somehow, utterly trapped. 

They are traitors and cowards, ostracised and shunned from the world. To you, they are survivors.

”Our father in Thy Name...” your mother prays faintly, her voice masked by the howling of the wind.

You reach the town centre. You’re here.

The mayor, a stout and podgy man, stands upon a podium with an odious confidence about him. He knows that today, through the death of another, he will get to live another year. His comfortable life in his palladian home, with all his fine assets and riches will be protected whilst the people of this village scavenge in order to feed their children. Sometimes, you wonder if Vampires are the only ones capable of inhumanity.

A man ushers you into a line of other girls, you stand towards the end with your name being a last minute submission. Your mother clings to you with blown out, desperate eyes and you let go. This is your duty.

”Thank you for attending,” the mayor begins and you clench your jaw. The sooner he announces the name, the sooner you can get out of this cold and start a fire back home. “It is the thirty-fourth selection ceremony in the history of our prosperous town, the ceremony that cements our safety as village.” 

The girl who is standing in front of you begins to cry, her shoulders shake so violently and not a single sound leaves her mouth. She looks as though she is on the verge of passing out. You rub your hands together, wondering if the cold will kill you before the vampires will.

”You have all come here as young women, but one of you will leave a hero. You will commit the most beautiful of sacrifices and breathe life back into this village for another year...thank you.”

He pulls forward a hat and rummages through. The bastard takes so long, you know his actions are deliberate— he wants the suspense to to fester and grow and fucking _kill_ you. Your back is straight, your shoulders are pulled back with a forced self-assurance but your heart is pounding.

It’s evil, it’s cruel, but you pray it’s someone else. The redhead at the front, the girl you used to play hide and seek with when you were a child, the shivering mess next to you who just _won’t stop fucking crying_. Anyone but you.

  
Then he calls the name.  


“Y/N L/N, please come forward.”

  
A shrill caterwaul sounds from behind you as you make your way forward. Your mother is restrained, pushed down into the heavy snow by the towns-guards as she begs for a re-drawing of the names. With unblinking eyes, you rise up on the podium and accept your fate.  


~

The roads ahead are icy and littered with a plethora of sharp rocks. The terrain itself rises up into the mountainous regions that the vampires are suspected to have originated from.

The wagon jerks from side to side. It is quiet, so you allow finally yourself to mourn. The wall comes crashing down and the bittersweet reality of your situation floods in. You will die. You will miss out on an entire lifetime of opportunities. You will never fall in love. You will never have a family of your own. The last sight you will ever capture is the glowing eyes of a predator before it sinks its teeth into you.

You think of your mother’s cries, the anguish that wracked her body with each sob and a sad smile finds its way onto your lips. If by dying, you will protect her, then you will die a thousand times over.

~

After a week of incessant travelling, the wagon finally comes to a stop.

Stumbling out with wide eyes and finally, the fear has settled in. You are in the lion’s den, a mere gazelle waiting for its body to be flayed and devoured.

”Thank you.” The driver’s voice contains a plaintive note, as though you are the most piteous sight he has ever come across. Nodding slowly, you keep your eyes trained on the manor in front of you. Despite being hidden in the mountain forest, the air is eerily still—there is no breeze and the thick blankets of snow seem to hide any evidence of life around here.

Then, out scurries a young man. He is not The Count.

His hair is dishevelled and thick, peculiarly longer in the back while his eyes are wide and nervous. His clothing, however, looks worthy of a prince with a vivid crushed velvet shirt. He introduces himself as Minghao, and entirely human, before escorting you inside for something he calls an ‘official inspection.’

The manor is a labyrinth, with a plethora of rooms and never-ending staircases. The hallways are dark and unwelcoming. You wonder how Minghao has ended up in a place like this.

”Don't look him in the eyes and you'll pass.” he whispers, when you reach a halt. His eyes are tired and despite this vagueness, his words are sincere.

Swallowing the bile that has arisen in your throat, you walk through the door.

~

The Count is breathtakingly beautiful.

His face is all sharp angles and high cheekbones, like a fine statue come to life. A supernatural, pearlescent glow seems to be emitted from his skin, as though he is made of silvery moonlight. His _eyes_ are so dark, they burn you upon his stare.

He fucking terrifies you.

Seated uncomfortably on a velvet armchair, you hold your breath as he inspects you. He hovers close, his fingers gripping your jaw whilst he gets a good look at your face.

His stare is invasive, eyes glowing phosphorescently as he looks directly into your sullen face. With no other options, you hold his gaze. His thumb slowly brushes your bottom lip, feeling the plump flesh bounce back and he hums in approval. Flushing at the unfamiliar touch, discomfort prickles through your skin.

He works meticulously and in silence, drawing you in closer and inhaling your scent. He’s at the crook of your neck now, his breath wafting onto your sweat-dampened skin— fuck it’s so cold that it burns. Nimble fingertips slide over your goose-pimpled flesh, he pokes and prods at you like an animal. You suppose, in essence, that is what you are to him. An animal. Livestock.

_Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop—_

”You’re exquisite.” His voice is higher than you expected, although it contains a certain gravelly edge to it. He sounds as though he’s talking about a jewel or a house or some other material object that couldn’t possibly compare to the life of a human being.

One second he’s close to enough to kiss and the next, he’s on the other side of the room. He moves in a blur, too fast for the human eye to detect and it’s a subtle reminder that him—his kind— possess an unholy strength. They are superior to the human race in every way, could wipe them out in the blink of an eye. It makes you wonder why they willingly restrict themselves, why they abide by some shitty set of rules that their prey have written out.

”Minghao,” he calls out and the boy is there. “Attend to all her needs and ensure she rests comfortably tonight.”

Minghao nods obediently and escorts you to your chamber. You climb a long, winding staircases when the words leave your mouth.

”What would’ve happened, if I didn’t pass the inspection?” Eyes trained on the floor, you know the answer cannot be good.

Minghao heaves a little at the question, but answers with astounding honesty.

_”He would’ve gutted you, then and there.”_

~

It is three days, before The Count summons you.

The dinner table is set, a crystalline chandelier hangs from the ceiling and dim candle light illuminates the room. He sits at the far edge of the table whilst you sit on the other.

He watches you eat, having no need for sustenance himself. An awkward chill surges through you but your eyes are kept on your plate. Chewing on the succulent veal and exotic vegetables, the shock that overtakes you is incredible. The flavours are explosive, bold, but are extremely complimentary to one another.

You wonder if Minghao had made all of these dishes, having never seen any other servants in the manor. It seems improbable, with the wide variety of roasted meats, sweet wines and frothy desserts— no human could do all of this for one evening.

You suppress a sigh. It’s useless to dwell on these things, you suppose. Either way, this is your payment— a hearty last meal before The Count drains you of your soul and devours your bloody entrails. It’s a subtle, yet patronising show of compassion.

Looking up at The Count, his body has not moved an inch. His eyes bore into you, face scarily stoic.

”Is everything to your liking?”

”Yes.”

Soon enough, the veal has disappeared from your plate, the wine in your glass is little more than a few plum coloured droplets and the air is tight with tension. He beckons you with his index finger and you obey. Your footsteps are deliberately slow, they taunt you as they echo in the vast expanse of the dining hall.

He holds a large, pale hand out and you take it. His grip is so tight, you fear he’ll crush the bone into powder.

”Sit.” He commands in deathly calm voice and with smouldering, dark eyes.

It takes you a moment, before you realise he wants you to sit on his lap. It’s disgusting, it’s perverse but you hunch yourself on top of him and a single arm wraps around your waist. 

He licks his lips now and you catch a glimpse of his teeth. His canines are so pointed, so absurdly long and dots of spittle gleam on them.

”Stop shaking.” Eyes snapping down to your hands, which rest on his chest for support, you can see the tremor in your digits; you notice the staccato rhythm of your breath. He looks faintly amused.

He pulls you closer so you fall into his embrace, and manoeuvres his head around you neck. Tears build in your eyes, memories of better times flood through and the loss engulfs you completely.

_This is it._

He plants a single, soft kiss on your neck.

You gasp a little, an insurmountable feeling of confusion dulling your senses. The tears won’t stop, they trail down into your mouth and the salt washes out all the sweetness from the wine. The heavy hands of fear grip you. He kisses again and again and again.

The Count loses himself, a hint of his teeth prickling at your flesh as he begins to suck wildly. He rubs circles onto the warm skin of your back, his sharp fingernails leaving crimson rivulets and you can only let him do so. It’s filthy, how he plays with his food, it’s sickening how he toys with you but right now, it feels so _good_. 

He bites. He takes you to heaven and hell, simultaneously.

Hissing, he laps up the blood that spurts from your neck with a deranged fervour and your vision dulls into small spots of black.

Then there is nothing.


	2. Awakening

_“We have lost many of our kind to the Nosferatu,” the mayor roars upon his high podium. Rows and rows and rows of young women fill the town square. There is barely any space to move. Mother’s hand grip yours tighter as she jerks you closer._

_”Don’t listen, love. Walk a little faster.” She chides, trying to keep her voice steady. Unspoken urgency surges through her and in childish innocence old you just can’t understand why. Perhaps the fruit stalks are closing early today._

_”Mummy,” you begin shyly. “Can we get apples?” She nods furiously, worming her way through the ever-growing crowd of people. It looks as though the whole village is here. You wonder if there’s a festival being held, one that mother’s forgotten about._

__

__

__”Yes, love. We can get anything you want.”

_A scream erupts through the crowd and the entire village is swept up in a frenzy. Discordant cries sound through the town centre, pushing and shoving and hurling one another around and all you can see is **red**._

_”Cowardice!” The mayor bellows into the air. “Pure cowardice!”_

_Mother is running now and you struggle to keep her pace, looking back at the girl who has a knife lodged into her throat._

_”Don’t you dare look back!” Mother snaps at you._

_When you make it to the fruit stalls, slimy, hot vomit erupts from the bottom of your belly. You don’t buy any fruit._

~

When you awaken, the crackling of a fire is what sobers you.

Minghao is perched comfortably on an armchair, lost in his thoughts. You watch him, still disorientated from your sleep. Abruptly, he lurches up and picks up a tray.

”Floral tea and some apple slices. I suggest you eat in small portions.” He works like an automaton, placing the tray down and pouring in the tea with a strange, disquieting efficiency.

”I’m alive.”

He continues stirring the tea, not even sparing you a glance.

”Does that surprise you?” Wringing your hands together, you find the strength to reply.

”The other girls from village have never come home. They’re dead.”

“Yes, they are.”

Minghao hands you the cup and places the saucer on your lap before sitting on the edge of your bed. His shoes tap away at the wooden floorboards.

“Why didn’t he kill me?” The question is stifling, it strips the room of all air and you know the serving boy feels it too. He composes himself remarkably fast, cocking a brow at you and straightening out his back.

”Do you think he’s the leader of the strongest race on Earth because he murders blindly?” He speaks with wisdom beyond his years, it is reminiscent of your mother scolding you—bitterly nostalgic.

”—No. To lead, you need to be analytical, you need assess those around you. Find their strengths. Find their weaknesses and make them useful to you— even if in the end, all they are to you is a midnight snack.”

He stands, just as abruptly as before and saunters over to the door.

”Yes, those girls are dead. You, too, will die but not before you’ve shown your worth to him.” 

He speaks in a dull monotone and you’re livid. It all spills out, your tongue is a dagger coated in thick poison and hope to pierce his heart.

”Do you feel no shame?” Your resolve cracks a little, your voice breaks.

“—You obey his every order like a dog, you serve him knowing what he’s done to our people! They’ve killed so many of us, they’ve destroyed us and all you have to show for it is your fucking teapots!” The acidity in your words burn him, they overflow and flood the room and all Minghao does is shrug.

”You, of all people, must know the price of survival.”

The door echoes as it slams shut and allow your tears, hot and heavy, to fall.

~

In the dimmest of moonlight, you read the history of mankind itself. The library goes on forever, spanning from the beginning of mankind to this very moment. Nothing is safe from the vampires. They can infiltrate the most impermeable of forces, whatever they wish to find will be theirs.

You read of the greatest vampiric battles; gruesome illustrations of decapitations and humans on horseback, fighting alongside the enemy.

Just how much do you not know?

Never, have you heard of predator and prey coexisting in harmony. Even suggesting such a thing would be blasphemous in your hometown, you would be hung, drawn and quartered at the slightest suggestion. Humans live in such darkness because it is vampires who hold the light within their bony, clawed fingertips. It is them who holds unimaginable power and humans who must suffer for it. 

_We know nothing because they make it so._

Glancing up, you catch the pallour of flesh and realise The Count is staring at you.

Your reaction is subtle, gripping the book a fraction of the book tighter, muscles growing taut and mouth pressing flat into a straight line. He sees it all. There is nothing that escapes his eyes, nothing that is sacred to him.

”You should be asleep.” Small, shy embers of discomfort reignite into a blaze of fear. The embarrassment, the humiliation that came with your actions last night only add fuel to the fire.

”I can’t.” 

He gives no response, not even the slightest of a brow or blink of an eye. Instead, he pulls out a chair and sits next to you. Reaching out, his fingertips deftly graze the spot he bit. There are no remnants of his brutality and somehow, in those cool brown eyes of his, he looks completely in awe.

“I heard you questioned my decision today. I hadn’t known you were so eager to die.”

Your discomfort is visible now, eyes glued onto his as he caresses the warming flesh on your neck. The fear will kill you first, before his hands ever can.

”Ask me the question,” he commands and you have no choice but to relent. Your tongue is no longer your own, it betrays you and speaks before you can even register its actions. 

”...Why didn’t you kill me?”

He smiles now, a wide Cheshire grin, all sharp teeth and dimples. Somehow, it’s not malicious.

”Because I didn’t want to.”

He moves closer, his body ripples with sensuality—every movement is fluid and flowing like a fresh water and a small, wanton part of you wants to drown in it.

”—And that alone, is a good enough reason.”


	3. History

It is silent when he bathes you.

The tub is spacious, its width allowing you to fully extend your legs and rest your aching shoulders. Tongue-tips of water lap up to the rim of the wood, where pale moonlight illuminates the surface. You watch it rush back and forth; to and fro with a resigned air about you. Minghao scrubs your scalp in circular motions until it is numb.

He shows no shame in seeing a nude woman. There is no crimson flush upon his cheeks, no sign of a sheepish quirk of his brow or mouth, no unevenness in his breath— just _nothing._ His eyes are glazed over with a sort of indifference that makes you wonder if he, himself, is human. Even you cannot deny the tremor in your hands, the pounding of your heartbeat at his touch.

Then his fingertips trail down onto your neck.

”I’m sorry this is happening to you.” He murmurs the words, as if he is scared to speak them. Like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

”It’s my fate.” You reply simply.

He snorts a little, blowing out some extra air in bitter amusement.

”You believe in fate?”

Now you snort, craning your neck back and smiling.

”I _have_ to believe in fate. If I don’t, I’ll lose my mind.” He nods in understanding and lifts up a jug of water that has cooled during your conversation, pouring it onto your dampened locks.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you too, Minghao.”

He stills in his movements, but responds with an steady tone. An indescribable clarity seeps from every pore in his flesh, every cell in his body. His wisdom is beyond his years, scarily so.

”Don’t be,” Combing your hair through his fingers, you feel a unspoken solemnness in his words. “Just tilt your head a little back.”

It isn’t enough. You are a vulture, raw and ravenous and unafraid to pick at the carcass of the serving boy’s past.

”How did you end up here? Living under The Count?” You lean backwards and catch a glimpse of his dark hair.

”Does it matter?”

You consider the words, re-evaluate and review the dark, desolate world you’ve both been hurled into.

”No. Not really. I’m going to die within a few days and you’re probably going to serve The Count for the rest of yours,” the candid truth hurts him, you can tell from the sudden force in his ministrations.

”—But we only have each other, Minghao. It’s just us.”

He continues to scour away at your flesh. It burns, it sears. He rubs the skin raw, until blood comes trickling down your back and the trance is dispelled. He withdraws like a defeated soldier in a rout. 

”I know.”

He presses a guilty kiss to your shoulder before pressing a soft cloth to it and leaves the bathroom so you can get dressed.

~

”You and I are one and the same.”

The Count’s eyes contain startling seriousness. The usual coquettishness he carries is lost and somehow, it makes him appear even taller, even broader and more terrifying than ever.

”I-...I’m afraid I have to disagree.” Candlelight flickers, half of his face shrouded in the darkness of night and the other illuminated. Squinting tightly, it appears to you that he’s amused.

”Of course you would. You’re the prey,” he stalks closer, you feel yourself shrink instinctively.

”—and _I’m_ the predator. It’s only natural you would try to distance yourself from me and my kind.”

”It’s not that.”

He raises a brow in intrigue although it seems mocking, everything he does seems so mocking to you. It makes you want to laugh until you choke on your own spit and cry until your eyeballs can’t take much more and fall out. That this misery was all caused by the serendipitous calling of a name. 

”Oh? Enlighten me then, my love.”

”Humans are predators too. We kill out of necessity, because we need to eat. It’s just the course of nature, I can acknowledge that,” you draw in a breath and he looks interested.

”But when we will our prey, we do it quickly. We don’t want them to hurt, we’re humane. But you...you’re barbaric. Vampires torture and burn and desecrate every last thing in their path and for what? You know you’re stronger than us.”

The Count’s back is completely straight, eyes attentive. He’s a rigid old tree that refuses to fall, no matter how wild the winds are. He will always prevail so why is he even entertaining your thoughts?

Then he laughs.

It’s airy and contains a disquieting timbre in the sense that it is just so soft. So gentle. It sounds wrong, like a simultaneous saccharine strumming of a harp mixed with the violent, discordant plucking of violin strings.

”I’m impressed. Articulate for a girl so young,” he chuckles lightly and your blood runs cold.

”—But undeniably naïve. Tell me child, what is humanity to those who are not human?”

He smiles now, without any humour. His teeth seem longer, like a prized set of knives. The column of your throat seems to constrict, your tongue goes limp.

”What? No answer?” He taunts with a slow, deliberate tone and curls a finger in your direction.

”Come closer, my love.”

As the prey, you have no choice but to yield. He takes you from the waist and once more, you’re sat on his lap.

_Cold. So cold. So cold._

”I can hear your heart. It’s working so hard to keep you alive. Beating so furiously...” he whispers, and your eyes burn with tears. It’s all too painful. A reminder of your fickle mortality, your fickle fate.

”I hear that sweet, virgin blood rushing through your veins. I wonder if you’d still be as sweet if I deflowered you.” He inches closer and rubs his nose against yours. His actions are saccharine and his words are sultry. You feel a dull heat pool in your stomach at his words and tears drip from your lashes onto your cheeks.

”Make no mistake about it, I am superior to you physically but we are both branches from the same tree. Humans and vampires are not unalike.” He holds you like a lover, caresses you like you are his world, like he lives and breathes solely for you—

”Together, we fulfil the cosmic balance. We are made for each other.”

His sincerity, his erudition and foresight is startling, it pierces your soul. 

The Count lays you down and bites into your flesh. When he’s done, he kisses you and iron seeps into your mouth.

~

Minghao can’t stop crying.

He sees it all again. Thick plumes of smoke wafting through the air, the unending cries and screams of his people, his friends, his family. He wades through a river of their blood, runs through the fire and debris of collapsing buildings.

Home. I need to make it home..” he orders to himself, makes a silent vow filled with lugubrious determination. The sentiment is sweet although it dooms him.

Knocked to the ground a few times, he stumbles back onto his feet and narrowly misses the herd of horses and livestock stampeding his way. Then he looks up. This can’t be it. This can’t be home.

His house, a modest but comfortable structure, is soaked in blood. Wooden beams let out a mighty groan before falling and he darts closer. Through the kitchen, into the family room where him and his love slept so peacefully last night. Where is she?

”Sweetheart, I’m here now! I’m here!”

There’s no response. The house is deathly silent in the midst of a world that screams in trepidation.

_“Sweetheart...?”_

She lies, curled into a ball, with her jugular ripped from her throat and hands resting on her stomach. It is rounding with maternity. He looks at her face. _Fuck, it’s so mangled and bloody, he can’t even remember what she looks like anymore._

__

He envisions you in her place. His perfect, pretty wife that has been torn in half.

__

He doesn’t think the tears will ever stop.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while :( I’ve been really sick.
> 
> Anywho, Jun is being weirdly nice and it’s even freaking me out 🤧✋ he’ll be on some bullshit again don’t worry!! 
> 
> Also minghao is around 23 which in the history is a great time to already be married and with kids so please don’t hate me for giving him a tragic romance for a backstory
> 
> The kudos that has been given has been much appreciated :D feel free to leave a comment too and tell me how you feel about this story as well as things you’d like to see and I’ll try my hardest to incorporate it


	4. Tumultuous

His kiss is always startlingly deep.

With a long and pointed tongue, he probes around your wet mouth. He feels all those untouched nooks and crannies, licks around your teeth, gums and tongue and all you can do is lie there and let him. It aches aches aches aches—

He drains you of more than just your blood. Your energy, spirit and liveliness all dissipate when he desecrates your body. Weakly, you try to kiss him back. It’s revolting, really. Rivulets of crimson drip from the swollen corners of your lips, the taste of metal is so strong you resist the urge to vomit all over him but you don’t. You don’t because the truth, no matter what niggling pain it brings has been illuminated. It shines so brightly, in luxurious, pearlescent colours that you can see it even with your eyes closed.

  
_”Together, we fulfil the cosmic balance. We are made for each other.”_  


Fate, in all her disillusioned glory, is a mighty scribe. If this decadent, deathly misfortune is what she has written for you, then so be it.

The Count withdraws from you, allowing you to catch your breath. He does so with lordly composure, everything he does is so quietly patronising. You wonder if he’s begun this new routine of stolen kisses, solely to humiliate you.

“I want to leave, now.” 

He smiles charmingly, the ravenous beast is gone and in his place, a true gentleman stands.

He kisses you once more, with some twisted semblance of sweetness and nods.

”Of course.” Gesturing to the door, he begins to go about his business and you stumble out, feeling as though your skin is on fire.

~

He knows it’s wrong, but can’t quite stop himself.

Tossing and turning, it seems you cannot find peace even in your sleep. Minghao notes the uncomfortable jut of your bottom lip, the pensive, pained contortion of your face, the occasional hoarse whimper escaping your lips. Swollen, hot, hurting.

Beads of sweat roll from your flaming flesh, teasingly slow, down past your bared collar bone and into the valley of your breasts. Adverting his eyes to a bookshelf in the far right corner of the room, he heaves a sigh.

It seems you’re running a fever.

His fingertips, nimble from years of servitude, graze your forehead. Fuck, you’re on fire. The flush on your cheeks is explosive, body sprawled out like the scorching, incandescent flow of lava.

This beautiful, fierce glow will dim and harden and crumble under The Count’s pointed fingertips.

Letting out a choked, stifling sound, you draw Minghao’s attention back to you.

There will be no more death.

~

Mother? 

Sweetheart? 

Mother, where are you? I can’t see anything. I can’t see. I can’t see— Mother, I’m blind!

A chuckle.

You can see. You’ve just chosen to be be blind.

Mother. Where are you? I’ll come get you.

Hop along, little bunny, don’t forget to stay along the path.

It’s so dark. Can you see?

Silence.

Mother?

Are you there?

No. No. No, I’m begging you—

A burst of light, the gleam of fangs and sharp, sharp pain.

Gobble you up. Gobble you up, my dear.

~

Time has no meaning to you anymore. Seconds blur into minutes; minutes to hours; hours to days and months and years and—

”Hot. So hot.”

Writhing uncomfortably, you hurl the blanket away from you. Lungs heaving, body aching you regain yourself to flopping over on your back. With sickness, comes disillusionment. Nothing makes sense anymore.

“Drink.” Stick thin fingers hold a water canteen. Opening your mouth, you raise you chin as much as you can and suckle, like a newborn calf upon its mother’s bosom.

This figure, through your watery, bleary gaze, is comforting. A softness about them, a kindness in their actions. Nuzzling closer, you take hold of their cool wrist. It relieves the fire of your own flesh so you cling impossibly tight, pull them absurdly close and claim them as your own.

”Mo-mothe—“ a small chuckle cuts you off. More of a vibration than anything and it brings a strangle joy to your queasy form.

“...Don’t leave me. P-please, don’t let me go.”

A kiss is placed to your forehead in response and a sharp profusion grazes across your skin.

”Hush, sleep now.”

~

The Count has never been talkative. Actions hold more meaning than words and so, he hasn’t ever resigned himself to petty small talk and awkward greetings. When one has been alive for as long as he has, they develop a distinct understanding of the world— there is no place for idle chat. Not when your enemy is always watching, always waiting, to lodge a knife in your back.

His serving boy, cleans through his chambers. Nothing too strenuous for his human body, just a little sorting through papers and treaties, drawing the curtains shut and bidding his master a ‘good night.’

There’s something different about him.

“Minghao, you seem on edge.”

The boy looks up, somewhat perturbed, but forces a smile. His eyes are glazed over, lifeless and flat. The Count smiles. The boy’s smile drops.

”Forgive me, master.”

With watchful, intrusive eyes he regards the serving boy carefully. Minghao continues to shuffle through the same documents for the sixth time in a row.

”You’re worried.” He comments, with a deathly, nonchalant tone.

”It’s...only a trivial matter, master.”

The Count can’t help but tut at this. He hasn’t forgotten how weak the human heart is. Paper thin, so easily torn.

He remembers finding the boy, all those years ago, trapped in rubble; shrieking over a mangled corpse. That furrowed brow, those quivering lips. He imagines it to be the face of heartbreak.

“No, indulge me. What is it that worries you so?”

Minghao’s face reddens under the burn of candlelight.

”I hope our guest can recover soon.” Is all he says.

The Count, at last, blinks cooly. He always known of Minghao’s feelings, he’s caught every subtle glance the boy has made in your direction, every subconscious smile playing at lips when your back is turned— the incessant tap tap tapping of his shoes against marble when he sneaks off into the night to watch you.

He’s in love and The Count resists the urge to double over in laughter.

~

Mother? Mother, don’t worry I’m coming. I’m on my way. It’s going to be okay.

Crawling out of bed, you begin your journey home.

Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun—


	5. Running

Escaping the castle was easy enough. It’s the outside world that terrifies you.

In a hazy, feverish panic, you run. The forces of nature are vicious. The winter air mauls your reddening flesh, freezes the burning blood in your veins until your limbs loose all feeling.

Mother, where are you? I can’t see anything. I can’t see. I can’t see— Mother, I’m blind!

Letting out a cry, you make a sprint for the trees. Legs aching. Lungs burning. The cold, bony fingers of death pries apart your chest and tears your soul from your fragile body. The air is bitingly cold, it gnaws away at your sopping, bloody entrails until there is nothing left of you.

The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

You run, even in sickness, with brutal desperation and a wild heart and a broken soul. The thick, sturdy pillars of your spirit are crumbling at the foundations, debris and detritus and carnage sprawling through the air and piercing you upon impact. With every last fibre of strength within you, with the single drop of resolution you taste on your tongue, you have made your decision. You are _not_ going to die by his hands.

Then you hear it.

”Y/N?”

His voice is kind. You hide at the sound of it. 

”Y/N...It’s okay, I’m here now.”

The coolness of the marble against your bare back is what you register first. Lifting up your heavy eyelids, the orange hue of sunrise streams into your pupils and pervades your vision wholly. Through it, you catch a shadow with dark hair. It holds you against its chest as though you are made out of glass, fragile and fiercely beautiful. It’s heart beats ferociously, blood gushing within its veins frantically yet sweet, soft nothings are whispered into the shell of your ear. It is gentle, it is warm and it is Minghao.

Upon feeling the warmth of his skin, you let out a shrill, defeated, unholy wail.

~

The Count doesn’t address the incident until a week later, with his head between your thighs.

The goose-pimpled flesh is taut against his tongue and fragile against his fangs. He suckles the inner surface of your thighs with a vicious fervour, wielding his tongue as a soldier does his sword. He cuts through you with his sex, desecrates your skin with every lofty touch of his fingers and brings you to the edge—all just to watch you fall.

He’s too close and too far to your weeping heat. You want him to consume you and to release you all at once.

”Let me tell you a story,” he rasps with cruelly mirthful eyes. You barely have time to register the words before his mouth is back onto your flesh, licking and lapping up at your spilled juices like a man starved. A cry heaves it’s way out of your chest, half out of wanting and half out of sadness.

It’s not death that scares you. It’s the wait.

”—I had heard this during my own childhood and it had stuck with me,” you can scarcely believe this creature that sucks your blood and rips into your skin was ever a human let alone a child brimful of innocence and hope.

”—There was once a rabbit who possessed a fiery, fierce disposition. This rabbit wasn’t happy being a rabbit. It wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to be more,” he lays open mouthed kisses down the length of your inner thigh, stopping directly in front of your throbbing heat and inhaling deeply. You whimper and resist the urge to dig your fingers into his hair and drive him into your flesh.

”—But he was often discouraged by the other rabbits, his brothers and sisters and his poor, old mother. They had told him that he was born a rabbit and that he would die one, that he couldn’t escape the hands of destiny because he belonged to them. He was born in a rickety, old pen and would die by the blade of a human butcher and that was okay. That was what fate had ordained. ‘ _My son, my precious child, it is the life a rabbit must lead,_ ’ his mother spoke to him one summer’s night, when the rabbit was feeling particularly restless. She had not lived to see the following morning.” He pauses, before taking a tentative first lick at your clit and groaning softly against the skin. The air around you vibrates with a lecherous tension and the fear only heightens your arousal. You are sickened by yourself. 

“—He couldn’t bare the pain of his mother’s death. He couldn’t bare to live such a tragic and unfulfilling life so under the darkness of the night, he had fiddled with the hatch of his pen and escaped, leaving all of his brothers and sisters behind him. He had hopped far and wide without food or water and starved himself down to skin and bones, travelled to unknown lands in search of a home and had lost everything he had ever known but had never changed his mind. He was resilient and proud. He knew he had made the right decision, even when he had fallen limp on the forest floor—ready to die for his choice. It was then, that he felt the warm touch of what only could have been his mother’s embrace. He let himself succumb to the feeling and when he awoke—he awoke to the teeth of a wolf.” He fucks you with his tongue lightly, teasingly and you rock into the sensation, feeling all of your weary inhibitions drown under waves of debauchery.

”—The wolf smiled and told him ‘ _there’s nothing to fear, little rabbit. I shall care for you just as I do my own children._ ’ The rabbit had succeeded in surviving. He lived with the wolves for many years, watching the birth of new lives and the deaths of old ones. He lived with them in harmony, in freedom and in peace,” his pace increases with an abrupt, mercurial anger. He rubs at your clit widely and the overstimulation borders on pain. Your hands dip down to his hair and attempt to pry him off. It doesn’t work.

”—Until the winter came. This was a terrible winter, unlike any the pack had ever experienced before. All of their prey had either frozen to death or escaped to warmer climates while they still could. And so, the rabbit watched his family starve and decline and die as he did in that rickety, old pen all those years ago. He had hopped away, in the biting air of the night, and searched tirelessly for something they could eat. He found nothing—ah, don’t struggle against me, my love— and returned home.” Dull pleasure sharpens in the pit of your stomach, your body burning brighter than it ever has before. You want him off. Now.

”—And when he had returned, the wolves were waiting for him. They sunk their teeth into his flesh,” his lips recoil from your puckered hope and into the skin of your inner thigh, piercing it with a perverse sort of malice.

You orgasm to the words of his tale. They are morbid and terrifying and shake you to the core.

”—And ripped him apart, piece by piece. As he died by the teeth and tongues of his beloved family, the rabbit wished he had fulfilled the duty he was destined for, as to avoid a death as painful and betraying as the one he had suffered.”

He licks you dry, mouth quirking up in an indolent, arrogant smile at your sporadically heaving chest. Your vision is impaired by tears, your mouth is cotton dry with fear and your limbs are dead weight, utterly limp as he pulls you in close and kisses your flushed cheeks.

”Little rabbit, little love, you mustn’t run from your duties.” He lulls you to sleep with a flurry of soft pecks and warm embraces. You wish he would just gut you, here and now.

~

Minghao serves The Count’s guests with a saddening ease. Like an automaton, his hands glide over the right bottles and chalices, nose quivering at the metallic scent arising from the cups laid out in front of the members of the vampiric council. A Mister Jeon Wonwoo and Mister Kim Mingyu, pillars of the vampiric constitution and laws and born from an aristocratic bloodline of the finest of vampires. They make Minghao sick to his stomach.

”My liege,” Mingyu calls over from behind his glass, eyes twinkling with a boyish amusement. Minghao would think he’s tipsy had it been alcohol in his cup and not human _blood_.

”—What of this year’s sacrifice?” Minghao can tell it’s a testy topic, something that could only be touched by the most delicate and dexterous of fingers. He can also tell that Kim Mingyu is a hulk of a creature and his hands are much too heavy to handle the subject matter.

”What of her?” The Count repeats lazily. Minghao represses a small smile at the cheeky deflection and busies himself by staring at the hair that straggles before his eyes.

Kim Mingyu isn’t one to beat around the bush. He’s blunt in a rather tactless way and confident in ways he shouldn’t be. He’s too cordial around The Count, too immersed in the glamour of the evening to remember who he is speaking to.

”Well, her presence around the castle is unmistakable. I’m simply surprised that she’s still alive. I would’ve thought you’d gotten rid of her by now, is all. Unless, she possesses a quality the others didn’t?” His eyes slide over to Mister Jeon Wonwoo who looks unperturbed. 

The Count places his goblet down and speaks:

”Do not presume to know what I would do, Mingyu. There is a difference between you and I.” his voice fills the room, bounces off of the walls and echoes in halls despite it having never been raised.

“Of course, my liege. I meant no offence.” He bows his head quickly and The Count accepts it with a nod. Mingyu is loyal to The Count, although a character to speak cautiously around and no one knows it better than The king of vampires himself. 

”If you must know, there is no quality this girl possesses that is different from the others. She is just as ordinary as every other sacrifice there was and just as ordinary as every other that will be. The only thing that is different is me. I should like to take my time, this year.”

Jeon Wonwoo is openly deferent in his silence, where Kim Mingyu is subtly sneaky in his words. He is transparent and possesses a frightening authenticity that many could only dream of having for themselves. To The Count, he is the equivalent of a brother.

”May we meet the young lady?” Is all he says. The Count smiles and stills.

”I shall ask her if she would like to attend dinner for tomorrow night.” 

At this, the two Lords peer over at each other in surprise. Mingyu shakes with the urge to press onto the matter of choice and consent and _for what reason would you ask the human?_ but remains silent.

“Thank you, my lord.” They both nod and dine comfortably for the rest of the evening.

Minghao bids the guests a good night, clears the table and washes the dishes. He tends to The Count before retiring to his own chambers and letting out a slimy pool vomit.


End file.
